


Lure

by Stray_Lilly



Series: Intrusion [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Gore, Graphic Description, Heavy Angst, Horror, Hunter-Prey, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Rats, Thriller, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22039243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stray_Lilly/pseuds/Stray_Lilly
Summary: Minho had just begun to recover from the nightmare that was Kim Seungmin when his world was turned upside down yet again. He finds himself drawn into another game of cat and mouse, and this time, it is not just his life at stake.
Relationships: Bang Chan & Lee Minho | Lee Know, Han Jisung | Han & Lee Minho | Lee Know
Series: Intrusion [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1508069
Comments: 7
Kudos: 88





	Lure

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a sequel to Paranoia so please read that first! Pay careful attention to the tags and don't read if something makes you uncomfortable <3

Minho dreamed.

_He dreamed about Chan. The sky was a brilliant cerulean blue. Chan’s eyes sparkled, his lips spreading into a smile. He held up his hand, palm stretched out. In the middle of his palm, was the head of a red rose._

_A butterfly fluttered just above the rose. Its wings were the same colour as the sky. It was beautiful. Oh so beautiful. But Chan’s fingers began to close around the butterfly. Minho tried to shout out a warning but it couldn’t hear him. It struggled against Chan’s fingers, wings fluttering fiercely._

He woke with a start, gasping for air and scanning his surroundings in a panic before he remembered where he was.

“You fell asleep.”

He started again, relaxing when he spotted Jisung nearby.

“It’s not a permanent thing. I’ll move out as soon as I find a place,” he reassured Jisung for the hundredth time since he’d hauled his bags into the younger male’s studio apartment a few minutes – no, he glanced at the clock on the wall – hours ago.

“Minho,” Jisung chuckled. “I said I get it. And again, stay as long as you want.”

Minho cast him a grateful look and sat down on the couch where he assumed he’d be sleeping. The apartment _felt_ spacious even though it wasn’t, perhaps because the only walls were those that enclosed the bathroom. Everything else was out in the open – Jisung’s sleeping space (established by the bed that took up space in that corner), his recreational space (most of it taken by an old piano) and a kitchenette. Minho had owned a similar apartment once when he first moved out on his own. 

That was before Chan. It felt like everything in his life was now divided into before Chan and after Chan. It was as if the last three years he spent with his boyf – ex boyfriend – had been erased, had evaporated into nothing. 

Nothing. Chan was nothing to him anymore. But that wasn’t really true, was it? Love couldn’t just cease to exist. Or maybe it could. In this case, it could.

“Hungry?” Jisung asked, disappearing behind a tall cluttered shelf and popping back around with a box of cereal. “I don’t really keep much in here. I suppose I could go to the supermarket quickly or –”

“I’m not hungry,” Minho gave him a small smile. It was the truth. After what he’d seen a few hours ago, he was sure it would be a long time before he developed an appetite.

Jisung didn’t look convinced but he nodded anyway, filling up a bowl for himself.

“Jisung,” Minho hesitated. But the blonde looked at him with a bright smile, urging him to go on. “I’m really sorry. About everything.”

Jisung waved off his apology and munched on dry cereal. “No need,” he mumbled, cheeks stuffed. _Cute_ . _Always cute._

“There _is_ a need,” Minho shook his head. “You lost your job because of me.” Only a few weeks ago, Chan had let slip that he had to spend several hours training a replacement intern. Minho had set aside the guilt and pretended not to care. So what if Jisung was fired? It wasn’t his fault, he’d reassured himself. A false reassurance. It was his fault.

“And I – I completely ignored every attempt you made to contact me,” Minho shook his head. “After everything you did… You saved me, Jisung. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be alive.” If Jisung hadn’t come looking for him that night… 

But Jisung just shrugged. “Min, I got fired because I was sleeping with my boss’s boyfriend. And as much as you want to blame yourself for that, you know it takes two, right? I’m as responsible as you are. And I don’t blame you for not wanting to see me. You were trying to make things work with Chan. You were recovering.”

“I was still a prick,” Minho shrugged earning a laugh from Jisung. He should have at least thanked Jisung. But he refused to see him at the hospital, refused to take his calls, refused to accept that he meant something to him. And yes, Jisung did mean something to him. _Something_. He wasn’t sure what exactly.

He could feel Jisung’s eyes on him now, studying him.

“What happened?” Jisung finally asked, and Minho knew the question had been lingering on his lips since Minho showed up at his door. “What happened with Chan?”

Minho gulped. How the fuck was he supposed to explain that? Even he couldn’t believe…

Six months had passed since Minho was terrorized by Kim Seungmin in Chan’s childhood home. Physically, he’d begun to recover, but the psychological recovery was slower. Chan had been there for him. When Minho had refused to step back into the house, Chan had booked them into a hotel for two weeks, patiently explaining that they’d have close to nothing if they sold the house. When Minho returned to the house but refused to step out of their bedroom, when, like a crazy person, he’d plastered every surface of the bedroom with pictures of butterflies, Chan had tolerated it all with a smile. When he’d greeted Chan every day with a knife in his hand, for months on end, Chan had simply let him.

He hadn’t given up on their relationship when Minho confessed that the reason Seungmin went after him was because he’d been unfaithful, had cheated on Chan with his intern. Instead, he’d called the police detective assigned to the case daily requesting an update, asking whether they’d found Seungmin, insisting that he be punished for hurting Minho. 

It was 2am, just a few hours ago in fact, when Minho woke to find the space beside him empty. The hallway light was on, and he could hear a shuffling noise from Chan’s study. He assumed Chan was working late. He was just going to ask if he needed coffee. It was the least he could do. Minho hadn’t taken leave from work and felt bad for not being able to contribute financially.

The door to the study was open, just a sliver. He stopped in his tracks when he heard the stifled moan. He peered through the gap. Chan had his fingers wrapped around his dick, jerking off to something on his computer screen. Porn, Minho assumed. But it took two seconds, and the voice that filtered through the speakers, to make Minho’s gut twist. 

_“So nice of you to prep for me,” Seungmin said. “I liked the little show you put on earlier. Too bad you cut it short. But we’ll finish it now, won’t we?”_

_“No, Seungmin. Please don’t. Please stop.”_

He pushed the door open, surprising Chan who stared back at him, equally horrified at being caught.

“How long?” Minho was shaking with rage. “When did he send you the video?” 

Chan was zipping up his pants, eyes darting all over the place, trying to come up with something remotely acceptable. “I can exp –”

“I asked you a fucking question!” Enraged, Minho swept the piles of papers and folders off his desk. “Tell me!”

“A few months ago.”

Minho could feel his dinner slowly working its way up, his stomach churning. “And…” he took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice as he gripped the edge of the desk, fingers digging into the wood, trying to restrain himself from wrapping his fingers around Chan’s neck. “And how many times have you watched? How many fucking times have you jerked off to me being raped by that monster?”

Chan refusing to meet his gaze was answer enough.

“You sick son of a bitch,” Minho spat, backing away from him. Chan stood up, starting towards him, but Minho held out his hand. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

“Minho?”

Minho was startled out of his thoughts, out of his nightmarish memories. “Um, nothing happened,” he shrugged. “It just – it just wasn’t working.”

Again, Jisung didn’t look convinced. People don’t show up at 5am with their bags if nothing happened. But Minho was glad Jisung hadn’t mentioned that.

“Stay as long as you want to,” he said again. 

Two months. Minho had stayed at Jisung’s apartment for two whole months. In the time that they’d shared the space, Jisung had made Minho agree to taking the bed, and now used the old couch instead. Over a span of weeks, more and more free space had miraculously appeared in Jisung’s closet, and he’d subtly encouraged Minho to make use of it. He’d also, on several occasions, brought up the idea of moving into a bigger space and making their living situation permanent. But Minho had shot down that suggestion. As tempting as a new beginning sounded, he’d just gotten back to work at the bank, had just switched on his phone, and was just testing the waters of facing reality… He couldn’t make such a decision yet.

Even when he saw the longing in Jisung’s eyes, when the way Jisung bit his lip turned Minho’s core into molten lava, reigniting a fire he thought he’d lost, when Jisung brought him hot chocolate and tucked him in after he woke from a night terror, when Jisung sung him to sleep, or played the piano until Minho felt drowsy – he wouldn’t be making any hasty decisions.

Minho had always known the extent of Jisung’s feelings, since they’d first started fucking. It was a few days after Chan had introduced them at the newspaper’s anniversary dinner. There were no sparks at the first meeting, but when Minho ran into him at the supermarket a few days later, a ‘hello’ turned into ‘I’ll walk you to your car’ turned into a ‘let me give you a ride home’ turned into fucking in the backseat of the car. 

Minho had made it clear from the beginning that it wasn’t serious, that he was committed to Chan, that fucking (and being fucked by) Jisung was just a way to alleviate some of the stressors from his relationship with Chan. And even though Jisung had agreed, there was always that longing in his eyes. It used to annoy Minho. But now he found comfort in it. It was nice to know that someone cared – that someone loved him.

He just couldn’t return the sentiment yet – or at least, he couldn’t admit that he returned it. For some reason, some part of him still ached for Chan. That motherfucker. It still made Minho sick to his stomach every time his mind replayed the image of Chan jerking off to _that_ video. And _still_ , Minho found it difficult to let go of him. But he needed to. 

There were a flurry of unanswered calls and texts from Chan the moment Minho switched on his phone again. All of the texts contained some kind of half-assed apology, begging Minho to come back ‘home’. That would never be home again. Just this morning, Minho had texted Chan to say he was seeing a lawyer about selling the house. He didn’t care if he only got a few pennies back after selling. He just didn’t want any kind of connection with that house any longer. He didn’t want any kind of connection with Chan either. 

“Fuck you, Chan,” he murmured, chopping vegetables for the soup he was making for dinner. Jisung had another interview today. Turns out finding another placement as an intern was difficult after you’ve been fired by a major newspaper. Minho still blamed himself. 

He cursed loudly when he accidentally grazed his teeth over his tongue. There was not much that could be done for it after Seungmin ripped it open. Yeah, Seungmin ruined a lot of things for him – eating, sex, breathing…

He was startled from his thoughts by an incoming text… from Chan. He set the knife down and wiped his hands on a dishtowel before opening the text.

It was a picture.

Of Jisung. 

Unconscious. Tied to a chair. 

Minho had to tear his eyes away from the picture to read the words, slightly blurry due to the tears forming in his eyes.

**Want Jisung back, Minho? Follow these coordinates. No police. Any sign of them and I cut his throat. If you’re not here in an hour, he dies anyway.**

Minho found it difficult to shut out the voice in the back of his mind that told him to run, to go far away, to pretend as though he hadn’t seen the text. But Jisung… He couldn’t just leave him to die, could he? _Could he?_

No, he couldn’t. He grabbed his car key off the counter, and after a heartbeat, decided to grab the knife as well.

Following the directions on the GPS was hard with the constant stream of tears trickling down his face. He kept checking his phone to see whether there were any new messages, anything explaining that this was all just a sick joke.

He’d been on the road for half an hour now, and had reached the outskirts of the city. But still, his destination seemed a million miles away. The sun was beginning to set, warning him of the approaching nightfall. As the buildings grew scarce, and people few, the voice in his head grew louder, frantic, telling him to turn around, to forget about Jisung. But Minho held onto his resolve. This was his fault. Jisung shouldn’t be the one to pay.

It was hard to drive carefully when he kept trying to focus on several things at once – the time, his phone to see whether there were any new messages from Chan, and the directions on the GPS.

Passing a police car on the highway, he wondered for the hundredth time whether he should have gone to the police anyway. But no, if Chan had lost it enough to kidnap Jisung, what else would he be crazy enough to do? Part of him couldn’t believe Chan would go to such lengths, but part of him – after seeing what he saw in Chan’s study – believed that Chan was capable of many things.

Blinking away tears, Minho almost missed the highway exit, quickly turning his car onto the rough terrain. From what he knew about the area, several nature reserves and wildlife parks were ahead. There were also few holiday homes, most deserted at this time of year. 

Twelve minutes to the hour… And according to his GPS, eight minutes until he reached his destination. He drove further on, the darkening sky shielded on one side by the face of a mountain, and on the other, shielded by several lines of pine trees extending far into the distance. Minho felt a chill that had absolutely nothing to do with the weather. His gut told him that he was walking into a trap, but he knew that if he didn’t, he’d never forgive himself.

He frowned when he came to a wrought iron gate haphazardly hanging off its hinges. A sign board was cast off to the side. It read: **Retirement Housing Project Site – abandoned until further notice.**

_Turn back. Turn back now, Minho._ That voice in his head warned him again. But Jisung… He had to find Jisung.

The sun had begun to set just as Minho drove through the gates. Had his heart not been beating abnormally fast, and had Jisung’s life not been in danger, he would have stopped to admire the orange glow lighting up the horizon, steadily growing in size until the black tarred road before him had begun to turn orange.

Where houses should have lined the worn road, there were mostly piles of rubble, stacked dangerously high. A few houses were half-built, missing doors and windows. and some had only partially erected roofs. 

The grass hadn’t been cut in a long time, and grew in tall, dry thickets, brushing up the sides of the ruins. For what it’s worth, it would have been a nice community to live in had it not been abandoned before it was built to completion. Before Minho realized the danger of living in the city centre, perhaps he would have wanted to retire in a place like this. Not anymore though.

He narrowed his eyes, seeing some kind of obstruction in the distance. Something lying on the ground. Dirt? More rubble? He hadn’t worn his glasses. He swore under his breath. He wouldn’t be able to see until he got closer. 

His eyes flickered between the oncoming obstruction and the coordinates on the GPS. His destination seemed to be looming closer – one of the partially built houses maybe.

Minho shouldn’t have stared at the GPS for so long, because now the obstruction was just a few meters away and he could clearly see what it was. He slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching stop.

“Chan?” He had to blink several times and lean forward a little to make sure he wasn’t imagining the male sprawled on the road, like he was lounging in the backyard. He propped himself up on his elbows, grinning at Minho like he hadn’t just fucking kidnapped Jisung. Minho had to wonder if this was all just some sick joke. But Jisung would never…

The orange glow of the sun was retreating now, giving way to the cover of night. Chan lifted a hand beckoning to Minho. 

Minho pursed his lips and shook his head, refusing to budge. If this was a joke, he refused to be part of it. 

Chan lowered his hand, his lips forming a pout. _Please_ , he mouthed. 

Minho was about to shake his head again when he realized that Chan was the only one who knew where Jisung was. Yes, it could be a joke, but if it wasn’t and Jisung was in danger…

He took a deep breath, steeling himself before opening the car door, and stepping out onto the road. He left the car idling and the door open, in case he needed a quick escape. He went as far as the car hood. 

“Where’s Jisung?”

But Chan shook his head, giving Minho that all too familiar condescending smile. “You need to come a little closer, baby.”

The sun had completely disappeared now, and the car headlights just about managed to illuminate Chan where he sat. Crickets had begun to chirp in the long grass and an owl could be heard in the distance, and what should have been a lovely summer’s night had begun to feel nightmarish. Minho wanted to get back into the car. He wanted to turn around and leave and not look back.

“Where’s Jisung?” he repeated the question.

“Come closer and I’ll tell you. I’ll take you to him, Minho. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes, but –”

“Then come closer. I want to see you properly.”

Minho had no choice. He had to comply, for Jisung. He clenched his fingers into the frayed ends of his long sweater sleeves and took trepid steps forward until around only five feet separated him from Chan. “Where’s Jisung?”

“In such a hurry to see your boyfriend, baby?” Chan looked up at Minho with a frown. 

“He’s not my –” Minho sighed. This was none of Chan’s business anyway. “Just tell me where he is.”

“Okay, then,” Chan’s lips lifted at the corners. “Get on your knees for me.”

“What?” Minho balked. “Chan just tell me where he is and –”

“Get on your fucking knees if you want to see him again,” Chan spat out the words, his eyes burning with hatred that Minho had never seen before.

“Okay,” Minho gulped. “I’ll just – okay.” He fell to his knees, wishing that he’d had on something thicker than sweatpants to cushion him.

And then, Chan began to laugh. Raucous laughter filled the air, the sound carried by the warm breeze. Minho was at a loss for words. What the fuck was happening? 

“Chan – I – what – I don’t understand,” he croaked out the words, his chest beginning to tighten. 

“You’re so fucking dumb,” Chan shook with laughter. “And to think you’re responsible for people’s finances. Hilarious!”

Several thoughts were running through Minho’s mind now: He was on his knees in front of this fucking lunatic; he had no idea where Jisung was; he wanted to be a coward and run. But he didn’t have time to collect the rest of his fleeting thoughts, because he’d heard the revving of a car – his car. 

_Fuck_.

He looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened as the car began to move towards him, swerving around him at the last second, and speeding away. Speeding away. His car. His phone. His chance of escape. Gone. 

The realization that he was stuck miles away from anyone who could possibly help was too much for Minho. This was just like… It was just like the last time. He took deep gasping breaths, but it was as though his airways had closed. 

“You look a little scared,” Chan remarked, and Minho’s eyes flickered towards him.

No. This wasn’t like last time. He tried to focus on all the reasons why it was different this time round. He needed to give his brain something to do before he shut down completely. 

He was outside – not trapped inside. The gate was a few meters behind him and he could run. Chan was fast but Minho could run if he needed to. Granted, his body still hadn’t recovered from the previous assault but he could run. And the biggest difference – _this was Chan_. Surely Chan could be reasoned with. Chan could listen to him. Chan could forgive him for all the wrong he’d done. Chan could let him go.

Chan was already on his feet. “You coming?” he asked Minho. He walked into a wall of grass, only his upper body visible as he strode towards a house. “Jisung’s in here,” he called out.

_Jisung_. 

“Or you could leave,” Chan’s voice drifted out to him. “You could leave right now. And I’ll… take care of Jisung.”

_No_. Minho had to get Jisung. He had to. This was all his fault. He scrambled onto his feet, trying to keep sight of Chan, but he’d disappeared into the house.

Although the sky was adorned with stars that night, it did little to light up Minho’s path. He could see the two storey house ahead but not very clearly. The lower floors had windows, cracked and dirty, but the upper floor was windowless, allowing the nearby tree branches to extend into the house. 

Hands shaking, he only just remembered the knife he’d taken and left in the car. Stupid. So fucking stupid. It was gone now. And then it struck him. _Who the fuck had driven the car away? Which sick bastard was helping Chan?_

With a mixture of anger and fear, he took cautious footsteps to the front door. For a moment, he just stared at the wooden door, wondering what horrors awaited him.

Turning the door handle, he pushed the door open, flinching back lest something jump out at him. It was so dark that it was almost as though the walls were painted black. 

Standing on the threshold, he waited, and listened. Nothing. Not a sound. 

“Chan?” he called out, softly at first, and then louder. “Chan!” The name left a bitter taste on his tongue. 

_Creak._

His eyes flicked to the ceiling, where the floorboards above him groaned ever so slightly. His breath hitching in his throat, he began to call again, “Chan!”

He took a few more steps inside, closing the door behind him. The last thing he wanted was for someone from outside to surprise him from behind. He scanned his surroundings, his eyes struggling to adapt to the darkness.

The front door led straight into what would’ve been a living room of sorts. Of course the house was void of furniture. It reeked of abandonment, and he inhaled the faint smell of rot, like something had died in there, and recalling the windowless floor above, he assumed that something probably had. 

In an empty ruin like this, Minho had expected it to be cold and airy, but it was actually warm and the air felt stifling. The long-sleeved woollen sweater he wore clung to his body, already damp with sweat. His hands were so clammy that he’d had to wipe them on his sweatpants several times already. But maybe that had more to do with his nerves than the climate.

Thick dust covered every surface, so thick that footprints were visible where someone – no, they were different sizes, suggestive of more than one person – had trodden. The footprints were a mess, heading into different directions like they’d been exploring the house. From the living room, he could glimpse a room to the left – various electrical outlets indicating it would’ve been the kitchen, and at the end of the small hallway, he could glimpse a shower stall through a half opened door.

But he focused on the winding staircase straight ahead. A few of the vertical rails were missing from the banister and Minho doubted the sturdiness of the structure. He held his breath as he approached it. He attempted to get a view of the landing above, but that was impossible. He needed to climb a few stairs first. His heart pounding out of his chest, he took the stairs one at a time, feeling around carefully with his feet before applying pressure. With every creak beneath his feet, he cringed. The smallest noise seemed to echo. He kept looking over his shoulder, afraid that he might overlook any horrors behind him out of fear for the horrors that may lie ahead.

A few stairs up, he managed to glimpse the landing. A dull yellow glow lit up the floorboards, and the flickering shadow of a candle flame danced along the wall. It took him a few seconds to spot the candlestick at the top of the stairs. The landing seemed to be empty. He bit his lip. “Chan?” his voice shook. “Chan, you wanted me here. Where are you?”

Minho sucked in a breath, trying to steel himself. He’d just placed his foot on another stair when he heard it. _Creak_. But this time it hadn’t come from above. He whipped around. No one. Nothing. 

Facing ahead again, he began to quickly climb the last few stairs. He hadn’t even reached the topmost stair when he heard a familiar sound.

When Chan worked in his study, he’d usually bounce a tennis ball against the wall, claiming the repetitive motion helped his thought process. When he couldn’t arrive at a conclusion, his throws would get harder, until the ball sustained too much damage to be used. It had annoyed Minho at first, and then he’d begun to get hypnotized by the sound, letting it lull him to sleep.

He could hear it now. _Thwack, thwack, thwack_. But perhaps because of the emptiness of the house, it sounded even louder. He took a deep breath – a few more steps. He needed to stop being a coward. Seungmin had already done the worst to him; he’d already broken Minho enough. There was nothing more that anyone, even Chan, could do to hurt him. Jisung was relying on him. He had to –

Minho gasped and turned around, eyes wide, trying to get an indication of what was making _that_ sound. There was no one in his immediate sight. But he could hear the scraping sound getting closer – from the kitchen? He couldn’t locate it. But the more he listened, the more familiar it sounded – a knife. He shuddered at the memories that threatened to debilitate him. From the floor above, the sound of the tennis ball began to grow louder, more frustrated. 

He felt trapped, unseen danger closing in on him from all sides. He pressed his back against the banister, hoping that nothing would stun him enough to cause him to fall over the edge. The bouncing sound continued from upstairs, now threateningly loud, but the more immediate sound – now confirmedly coming from the kitchen – was getting closer. 

It was a split-second decision, but Minho began to thunder up the stairs, not daring to look back over his shoulder. He stopped on the landing above, panting, quickly turning to see whether anyone had been following him upstairs. No one. With great courage, he peered over the banister, and immediately drew back.

He clutched the railing and tried to process what he’d seen. A silhouette moving among the shadows. He’d only glimpsed it, not long enough to study, but long enough to know that there was someone down there. Would they wait? Would they come after him?

The drawn out sound of a door squeaking open, made him jump in fright, and he hoped the noise he’d made wouldn’t encourage the person downstairs to come up after him.

“Minho.”

He held back a cry as Chan’s voice filtered through to him from the hallway ahead. He hated that a small part of him had felt comfort in it – relief – as if Chan hadn’t completely lost his mind and kidnapped Jisung.

Jisung. He needed to make sure Jisung was okay. Minho could do this. Chan wouldn’t hurt Minho. He loved Minho. Maybe all Minho had to do was lie that everything between them was alright. Maybe Chan just wanted him back. If he could make him believe that Minho felt the same…

He clenched his jaw, determined, a plan beginning to form. Wary of the person below, Minho took small steps towards the hallway. Behind him was an open space, designed for a floor length window. It would be so easy to jump into the bushes below. Escape. But that would mean leaving Jisung to die, and he couldn’t do that. 

He took a breath and picked up the candlestick, turning around to study the hallway. It was covered in drying, decaying leaves. He frowned at the candle in his hand. It would be risky just leaving an open flame near these leaves. Unless, it had just been placed there – for Minho’s benefit.

He shuddered to think that this had all been planned, and resumed his study of the hallway. On the right were several windowless spaces like the one behind him. The thought of an escape being so close almost seemed like a deliberate taunt.

There were a few doors on the right side of the hallway. All were slightly ajar. He stopped in front of the first door and took a deep breath, wishing he hadn’t, because the stench of rot was stronger up here. Lower lip clenched between his teeth, he pushed the door open at the same time he heard a loud creak from the staircase.

_Oh no. Oh fuck._

He hastily stepped into the empty bathroom, shutting the door behind him, eyes growing wide in panic. There were no keys! The doors couldn’t be locked! He looked around frantically for anything he could use as a weapon. Panic made his heart beat out of his chest, blood rushing to his ears, drowning out every other sound.

His eyes found the tank above the toilet. Like the rest of the house, it seemed that the plumbing had been half installed, and rather poorly. He kicked at one of the pipes that were hanging, almost disconnected. The sound of clanging metal rang in his ears as he used whatever force he had to kick at the pipe. His body, still not functioning at one hundred, ached from the impact. Seeing that the pipe was ready to give way, he reached down and tugged. He ignored the way the metal grazed the skin of his palms, and wrenched it free. 

Getting a feel for the weapon, he turned it over in his hands, staring at the door. As the racing of his heart calmed, and he regained control of his senses once more he listened for any sound from out in the hallway. What he hadn’t expected, was to hear the most terrifying sound – from _inside_ the bathroom.

Squeaking. Familiar. _Too familiar_. It was a sound that haunted him in his dreams. His body trembled as he looked around for the source. And there it was, beady eyes staring at him from behind a small pile of rubble. Its body was covered in short black hair, patches missing to reveal taut tan diseased skin. Minho should have known there would be rats in this ruin. He should’ve prepared himself.

But the bile that slowly surged up his throat told him that nothing could have prepared him for this. Backing away, he stared. It was eating a hunk of something brown, almost purple, blood seeping where its teeth sank into the morsel. _Meat_ , Minho realized. It was a piece of meat – meat that hadn’t appeared out of thin air. Just the thought that someone had been feeding these rats –

Hot, putrid, yellow bile rushed out from his throat, splashing onto his sneakers. He coughed up the remnants, spitting onto the floor and wiping his mouth. He wished more than anything for a glass of water to quell the burn in his throat. A hand pressed against the wall, he tried to steady himself from collapsing. The rat had stopped eating, and now stared, sniffing the air as though the smell of his vomit was alluring.

_Fuck_. He began to gasp for air, his airways suddenly too narrow. He clutched at his throat, desperate for air, for oxygen. But he just couldn’t breathe. The ground shaky beneath his feet, he dropped to his knees, his chest heaving as he began to cough and splutter. The room began to spin and he fought for consciousness. His heart began hammering in his chest, faster and faster until he was sure it was going to stop working. 

_Red eyes. Dark hairy bodies. Sharp teeth. Crawling. Biting._

_“They crawl on us while we sleep,” his mother said_ . “ _They nibble on us, take chunks out of me, out of my kid.”_

He let out a gut wrenching scream. He grabbed fistfuls of his hair, pulling, trying to wake himself up from this nightmare. In his periphery, he could see the door opening. He was being enveloped into a hug. Familiar arms hugged him close. 

He wailed, pressing himself into Chan’s chest, trembling fingers clutching the material of his t-shirt. “It’s okay, baby,” Chan soothed, rubbing warm circles on his back. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

“Chan,” Minho sobbed, pulling away, eyes darting around searching for the rat that had scurried away out of sight. “P-Please take m-me away!” 

Chan froze, his hands stopping their action. Minho sat back in surprise, legs folded beneath him. “Why would I take you away?” Chan looked at him incredulously. “Why, when I’ve put in so much effort getting you here?”

Minho used the back of his hand to wipe away the tears that blurred his vision. He wondered how he hadn’t noticed it outside. It was surprising to see the dark hair Chan had sported when they first met. He’d almost begun to think of Chan as a natural blonde. The dark hair took him back to another time, a better time… He shook his head. He couldn’t go there now.

“Chan, I need to get away fr –”

But the other silenced him with a finger tapping gently against Minho’s lips.

“I didn’t expect you to meet any of our little friends so soon,” Chan frowned, like Minho had committed an infringement of some sort. “That one must’ve gotten away. You can always come back here a little later. For now, I think you have a more pressing problem.” He gestured to the doorway behind them.

Minho froze, eyes widening at the sight of a shadow, indicative of someone standing just out of sight. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Because,” Chan placed a hand on his cheek, forcing him to meet his gaze, “you hurt me.”

Minho shook his head. “Chan,” he began to plead. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Please just let me go. I’m begging you!”

“Did you beg Jisung to fuck you too?” Chan snickered.

_Jisung_. “You have him here, don’t you?” Minho had to ask. “Did you… Is he…?”

When Chan’s expression darkened, Minho knew immediately that he’d asked the wrong question.

“You’re concerned.”

It wasn’t a question so Minho just stared, not daring to breathe, not daring to move a muscle.

Chan stroked his thumb across Minho’s jaw. When he spoke, his voice was low, threatening. “You better run, baby. Because when he –” _He_? Who was _he_? “– catches you, you’re going to die.”

Minho didn’t need telling twice. He stood up, struggling a bit to find balance. Giving Chan one last look, he bolted. He’d already gauged that the person in the hallway blocked his way to the staircase, so he had no choice but to run in the opposite direction. 

Not looking back to see whether anyone was giving chase, Minho ran. The only way out now was the window straight ahead. He knew the underbrush beneath the window would cushion his fall some, but not enough to prevent further injury to his already damaged body. His heart beat frantically and his breath came in small spurts, hot and heavy. He could hear the footsteps behind him, closer and closer…

He’d have to risk it. He had to get out. He could do it. He could, couldn’t he? Just a little fall. Just a little pain. Just –

Minho shouldn’t have glanced into the room. But it was too late now. His feet came to a skidding halt in the doorway, the momentum almost making him trip over his own feet. He gripped the doorway for support and choked out a whimper.

_Jisung_.

Tied to a chair, just like in the picture he’d been sent. His head hung, and Minho hoped that he was just unconscious. But the blood tricking down the side of his head… They’d _hurt_ him. Chan and whoever the fuck was crazy enough to help him.

Chan and whoever the fuck was closing in on him. He could hear the footsteps, approaching rather slowly. It was as though they too were waiting to see what Minho would choose. And Minho was torn between trying to save his own skin and trying to help Jisung. But his feet moved on their own accord and he found himself approaching the injured male. 

He was stupid. He was so fucking stupid. 

He felt himself being wrenched back by the strong grip on his sweater. He struggled to break free and heard the tear as his sweater was ripped down the middle. “Let me go!” he shouted, trying to remove the arm that had secured itself around his waist, slamming him back against the body of his attacker. 

And then he caught a whiff of it.

Unbidden, the images entered his mind. _Seungmin ripping his tongue open with his knife, Seungmin plunging the knife into his palm, the crack of his bones as the baseball bat connected with his body, the smile on Seungmin’s face._

_Citrus. Pine. Kim Seungmin._

Minho had stopped fighting. Rather stupidly, he let his hands fall limply to his sides. He _couldn’t_ fight. He knew now that it was hopeless. He just had to wait. He had to wait for whatever Seungmin was here to do. Running would be worse. Seungmin would catch him, wouldn’t he? He’d drag him back inside. He’d make him suck on that knife. He’d break his bones. He’d hurt him again. He’d violate him in the worst way possible. 

And Chan… What was Chan doing with him? Chan and Seungmin… together? How? Minho couldn’t understand it. How could Chan be in this together with this monster? 

Or maybe it did make sense. Maybe Chan had been a monster all along too – a wolf in sheepskin. Should Minho have seen this coming? 

“Ready to have some fun, Minho?” Seungmin’s breath tickled his neck as he spoke. His hands began groping Minho’s body – his abdomen, his crotch, his thighs. His fingers were frantic, touching every bit of Minho they could find. It was like he was looking for something.

“What the fuck does he see in you?” Seungmin hissed.

Minho trembled beneath his touch, lip clenched between his teeth as he attempted to remain silent. He didn’t want to give Seungmin any reason to hurt him. 

But of course, that was Seungmin’s intention. So he hurt Minho anyway.

A fist ploughed into Minho’s side and he doubled over in pain. “Please,” he gasped. But the fist drew back and began pummelling into his ribcage once more. Pain erupted from the impact and Minho fell to the ground. Still, Seungmin continued his battering assault on Minho’s body.

He landed each kick concisely into Minho’s side, intending to inflict more damage where he had already begun months ago. Minho curled up on the floor, choking on his sobs as he tried unsuccessfully to shield himself with his arms. A boot crunched down hard on his fingers and he cried out. The room was beginning to spin now, around and around. Spots of black blurred his vision and he blinked rapidly trying to make sense of his surroundings. He couldn’t see Seungmin anymore. Oh, but he could feel him. 

He could feel his body being crushed beneath Seungmin’s shoes. It was like being run over by a train. His guts were being smashed together, blood vessels bursting, bones breaking. 

And Minho couldn’t fight to stay conscious anymore. He didn’t want to fight. If he was going to die now, so be it. Fuck this life. He didn’t want it anymore. 

“Isn’t this a familiar scene?” Seungmin snickered from where he stood, leaning against the wall.

Minho tried to adjust his eyesight to the dim lighting. A candle dripped wax into a saucer in the corner of the room, casting light onto the figure nearby and leaving most of the room in shadow.

A bathroom, he realized. He was in a bathtub. Yes, this was a familiar scene. But this time the bathtub wasn’t filled with mucky water, and he wasn’t bound. He didn’t need to be bound. He couldn’t move even if he tried. His insides felt like slush, jelly-like, disconnected. 

Minho tried to talk, but the simple act of breathing was just too painful. He looked at Seungmin, at the familiar knife in his grasp. Its gold-plated handle shone in the candlelight, but that wasn’t what Minho was staring at.

Red smears decorated the jagged edge of the blade. _Blood_. Minho’s first thought was Jisung. But no, this wasn’t Jisung’s blood, he realized.

It was Minho’s blood.

He saw the cuts now. Bare from the waist up, Minho took in the state of his upper body. They were sporadically gauged into his skin, thin lines of red splitting his skin open. Some cuts were deeper than others, causing blood to dribble down and collect in his bellybutton. 

His arms too, he observed, had cuts running down them from shoulders to elbows, from elbows down to his palms. What the fuck was the point of this?

He mumbled something, incoherent even to his own ears. He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the porcelain surface. He wasn’t religious, but he found himself saying a silent prayer, asking for a quick death.

“Chan!”

Seungmin’s voice surprised Minho, causing his body to jolt. He grunted at the pain that coursed through. 

There was an answering call from down the hallway but Minho couldn’t make out Chan’s words. His eardrums thrummed with his own internal screams, and he attempted unsuccessfully to choke back his sobs.

When Chan appeared in the doorway he only sobbed harder. 

“I have them,” Chan ignored his rambling pleas for help, for mercy.

Surely Chan wasn’t really okay with what Seungmin had done? Surely he wouldn’t let Seungmin harm him further? Surely, he wasn’t a monster. Minho could hope. He had to hope. He did hope.

Until he heard the squeaking.

He froze, panic surging through him, and his body began to shiver. His eyes darted around wildly looking for the source of his terror. And he found it in the box at Chan’s feet.

“Ready to meet my friends?” Chan’s voice was patronizing, his gaze menacing.

Minho shook his head. “Please, Channie. Don’t do this. Don’t. Please, I’m sorry. I really am.”

But Chan was already crouching beside the box, lifting the flaps. 

Minho tried to think clearly but his mind was a panicked mess, his thoughts as disjointed as his body. He ignored the wrenching pain as he sat up, hands gripping the side of the tub. The fingers on his left hand hung limply, the skin torn and bloody. Still, Minho tried to lift himself out of the bathtub.

His body gave way as soon as he’d lifted himself a centimetre up. He slipped back against the hard porcelain surface and yelped as the pain reverberated throughout his broken skeletal structure. 

He choked out a sob, beginning to plead with Chan who towered over him, the box raised over the bathtub. “Chan, I’m begging you!”

Chan turned the box over and Minho began to scream. There were around a dozen of them, scampering over his body, trying to get a grip on their new surroundings. Their tiny claws scratched against his skin and their fur rubbed against him as they scattered. He tried to lift his arms but he wasn’t physically able to do that anymore. 

His mouth opened in a silent scream when he felt the first set of teeth sink into one of his cuts. Soon he could feel the spearing pain all over his torso, all over his arms, sharp teeth piercing him like a hundred knives stabbing into him at once. Their teeth tore open his skin, tearing flesh away from bone. They began to devour him.

Minho could only sit in terrified silence, his voice too weak to cry out. Chan positioned himself at the edge of the bathtub, looking at Minho with a mixture of disgust and pity. “We could have been so happy,” he placed a hand on Minho’s cheek. “But you ruined that.” He sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “At least I didn’t ruin your pretty face,” he remarked. “Not a scratch.” A rat was attempting to scurry up Minho’s shoulders. Chan swatted it off, making a face. “Disgusting little things. Like you, Minho. It’s only fitting that they’re in there with you. Especially with that phobia of yours.” He clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. 

Minho let out a weak whimper, closing his eyes. _End. Please end. Make it all end._ Chunks of flesh were missing from his torso. One of his nipples dangled from a piece of skin. The pain had long since faded into numbness.

When Chan pressed a hand against his crotch, his eyes flew open. _No_.

“I wanted to fuck you,” Chan groaned. “One last time, you know? But then Seungmin reminded me what a slut you’ve been and who knows where your dick has been? I don’t want that filth anymore.”

Seungmin… Minho blinked, trying to find him. But he wasn’t there anymore or Minho’s eyesight was failing him.

“But I think there’s someone else who’ll be happy to have you one last time.”

Minho should have been glad when he was lifted out of the tub. But he wasn’t. Moving hurt more than anything else. His body fought against the move, muscles straining to stay in place, organs trying to inhibit their deterioration.

And then he saw Seungmin, and the bare body he was dragging into the room. _Jisung_. Minho’s eyes widened and he willed Jisung to be okay. At least one of them had to make it out alive. At least one. And Jisung deserved to live.

He was relieved to see the slow heaving of Jisung’s chest as he was splayed out unconscious on the floor. Chan set down Minho between Jisung’s legs. Unable to keep his balance, Minho collapsed onto the unconscious male.

“So eager,” Seungmin snickered, crouching behind Minho and beginning to pull down his pants and underwear. 

Minho began to sob into Jisung’s chest, hating that there was so much he needed to say but physically wasn’t capable of. _Wake up, Jisung. Please, baby. Wake up. I’m so sorry._

He could feel fingers entering him now, and knew that had he not been saturated with pain already, the stretch would have made him scream. It had been so long since, and he doubted any kind of lubricant had been used. 

“You’re so tight compared to the last time,” Seungmin sounded amused. “Did Jisung get tired of fucking you or is he that small?”

“Let’s see, shall we?” Chan kneeled down beside them.

Minho shrieked when he was violently wrenched backwards. “We just need to get your boyfriend ready for you,” Seungmin whispered in his ear, Minho’s body being crushed in his arms.

He watched in terror as Chan wrapped his hand around Jisung’s length, beginning to stroke him to readiness. And Jisung… Jisung was beginning to stir! Minho’s heart began to race. He didn’t know whether he’d prefer having Jisung awake or unconscious for this. But he was glad to see his eyelids flutter open.

Jisung blinked rapidly, his vision obviously not at its best. Even when his eyes were open wide, he stared up at the ceiling in a confused daze. Maybe he won’t remember any of this, Minho could hope. 

When Minho was pushed back down towards him, Jisung’s eyes moved from the ceiling and scanned Minho’s face. There was a semblance of recognition as he drunk Minho in, his brows furrowing. 

Minho tried to talk to him, tried to apologise. But Jisung’s eyes began to reflect Minho’s terror as he pressed into Minho and he began to grasp what was happening. His mouth opened, jaw slackening, but like Minho, he couldn’t speak. Unable to prop himself up, Minho could only rest his head on Jisung’s chest.

For a few seconds he lay there, listening to the erratic beating of Jisung’s heart, before he felt fingers carding through his hair, and a firm grip wrenching his head back. 

“Look at him,” Chan growled. “Look what you’re doing to him, Minho.”

Minho tried to hold Jisung’s dazed stare, tried to convey what he was thinking as he felt the cold metal press against his throat. _I love you, Jisung._

And then a shower of red rained upon Jisung’s face. _Blood. So much blood_. Minho couldn’t understand where it was coming from.

And he couldn’t stay awake any longer.

Minho dreamed.

_He dreamed about Chan. The sky was a brilliant cerulean blue. Chan’s eyes sparkled, his lips spreading into a smile. He held up his hand, palm stretched out. In the middle of his palm, was the head of a red rose._

_A butterfly fluttered just above the rose. Its wings were the same colour as the sky. It was beautiful. Oh so beautiful. But Chan’s fingers began to close around the butterfly. Minho tried to shout out a warning but it couldn’t hear him. It struggled against Chan’s fingers, wings fluttering fiercely._

_And then Chan’s lips twisted into a sneer._

_Minho’s eyes widened and he began to shake his head, murmuring a plea for Chan to stop. Don’t, don’t, don’t. But Chan couldn’t – didn’t want to – hear him._

_Minho watched in horror as Chan squeezed the butterfly between his fingers. He gave Minho a cruel smile as its antennae were ripped from its body. He began to tear the butterfly’s wings into shreds, small bits of crumpled blue falling from his fingers._

_And Minho screamed. The pain. It was excruciating. It was as though his insides were being scraped out. He screamed for help, pled for mercy but no one heard him._

_He was a butterfly and he was being torn to pieces._

_He’d been lured to his death._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Twitter   
> CuriousCat


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